


Black Blooded

by Midnight_Punk



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: #Is this jojo part 2?, Blood, Canon Divergence, Daedra, M/M, Pretending to be a corpse to escape death, The Dragonborn is a main character but he isn't the main main character if you know what I mean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11157438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnight_Punk/pseuds/Midnight_Punk
Summary: A daedra having been captured, and is on the absolute road to public execution escapes by mere coincidence. He isn't going to waste time, he came to Skyrim for one reason and one reason only, to find someone who might not even still be alive. However despite his goals, he'll find himself caught in the unraveling of a massive conspiracy beyond comprehension. Most importantly what does an enigmatic man who has been given the title of "Dragonborn" have to do with this?





	1. Chapter 1

The old wagon buckled under its passengers’ weight as it chugged along the countryside. The smell of sweat reeked heavily despite the air being thin and cold in the land of Skyrim. Speaking of cold, the air was freezing, the itchy tattered rags the wagon’s passengers wore could not hold in their own body warmth, much less protect them from the chilling winds. Nihelm tried to blow his silky black hair from his eyes. His hair ties were beginning to fall off. He'd have to fix those when he got his hands free; They were a gift after all.

Nihelm’s attention was caught when the sounds of commotion rang out behind him. Something about… Ulfric Stormcloak. Just his luck, that’s the kind of ride it was. He sighed with not even slight disdain. Considering starting a conversation to pass the time, he turned his head to the other passengers. All of them turned away with sneers of disgust clearly visible on their faces. He wasn’t terribly surprised considering who he was, but it still hurt just a little. A shadow passed over Nihelm’s eyes in a flash. Soon the malevolent jeers of people he didn’t recognize and the feeling of the rickety vehicle coming to a stop told him that they had reached their destination. If he didn’t play his cards right, his final destination.

Before Nihelm could even think he was forcefully ushered off of the wagon. Unlike the other passengers however, he landed on his feet gracefully, almost making no noise at all. Two figures in both leather and steel armor beckoned him forward. The woman, wearing heavy Imperial steel armor, looked holier than thou, short tempered, and important. That was a very unwelcome combination that marked her down as someone who gave orders. The man, wearing light leather armor and holding some kind of leather bound book, looked timid. He was likely some kind of record keeper. As he walked over to the ones who had a hold of his life, Nihelm knew the best he could do was stall for time. 

The nervous man hastily opened his disorganized book names and lists, “W-what’s your name lad?”

“Nihelm, Nihelm Walker,” He replied simply and professionally with his head held high, if he was lucky, obedience might win the heavily armored woman over.

The man flipped through his book over and over as if looking for something, he began to sweat nervously as his eyes darted across the paper, “S-so are those real.

Nihelm was confused at first, but he quickly realized that the man was talking about his horns. The record holder was trying to stall for time as well. He probably couldn’t find Nihelm’s name. Today was his lucky day. The armored woman irritatedly glanced at the man as he desperately tried to find his name. She was getting impatient.

“You want to find out?” Nihelm stared at the man with his red, goat like eyes, demanding eye contact, and smiled, “You can touch them if you want.”

The man in leather armour didn’t know how to react and stopped for a moment when suddenly the armored woman snapped at him, “what exactly do you think you’re doing, you can find that out when he’s dead!”

“I was jus-,” The man tried to utter out before he was cut off.

The woman had no patience, “Just what exactly?”

“His name isn’t in the book,” The man tried to explain.

The armored woman sighed with annoyance, “It doesn’t matter, it’s not like anyone will miss scum like him anyway, he goes to the block!”

It was worth a shot. Soon Nihelm was guided to a row of other inmates whom were also clearly repulsed by him as well. As soon as he stepped into line however, he overheard another argument over an inmate. It sounded like he wasn’t on the list either. Nihelm couldn’t resist the burning temptation to take a peek at the other no-lister. A tall imposing man treaded over to the soldiers he talked to before with his head pointed down, not with shame however. Nihelm could sense the energy from him. The man had wild but short platinum blonde hair, a rugged beard, and obvious dark circles under his eyes. Something was odd about him, but Nihelm just couldn’t distinguish what made him different from the other brutes around.

Suddenly more yelling ensued, and a frail skinny man rocketed towards the town gates like a wild animal. Following after a firing command from the woman in charge led to several arrows plunging into the runaway’s back causing him to fall short and drop dead. It was a clear and obvious warning. It was that moment that Nihelm knew he was likely out of chances. Like clockwork, the enigmatic blonde man soon came in line next to him. A priest began praying for the first victim to be executed only to be quickly cut off by the said hopeless, short tempered prisoner. He willingly positioned himself on the chopping block, and sure enough, wouldn’t you know it, his head was unceremoniously severed from his body as it fell into the basket. 

Following shortly after, it was the strange blonde man’s turn. Like the other one, he was kicked down onto the cold concrete slab. The stench of death was already starting to eat away at Nihelm’s nostrils. It seemed like no matter what, without a doubt, the weird man was going to die until… A booming shriek cut through the air like a knife. No. It doesn’t make any sense. It shouldn’t be possible. Time seemed to slow down. Nihelm knew completely, that someway, somehow that man was going to live. How? Just as the axe was about to end the man’s journey permanently, the executioner was knocked off of his feet by roaring air pressure alone. As soon as Nihelm looked up, he knew why.

A scaly black creature, with wings of ebony, and a voice of forceful air perched itself on top of a stone roof that looked almost delicate compared to the creature’s deadly appearance. A dragon. The man who cheated death didn’t waste time, he lept to his feet and followed another prisoner to presumably somewhere more safe. Nihelm decided he wouldn’t waste time either. He used his sharp black claws to effortlessly cut the ropes binding him like butter, but as soon as he tried to make his escape, he was stopped by a sword held towards his neck. 

A familiar hostile voice rang in his ears, “Don’t make a single move.”

“Calamity strikes and your first instinct isn’t to find safety or help your fellow soldiers, but to kill someone who isn’t even marked down for execution,” Nihelm chuckled with a grim but mocking tone, “You are a sad woma-”

The woman snapped, “Silence, I don’t care for what a filthy daedra has to say.”

There’s that special word. He hasn’t heard anyone actually say it to his face in quite some time. The woman reeled back and attempted to take a hefty swing at Nihelm only for him to effortlessly spin out of the way like a royal dancer. She clumsily staggered forward from her missed strike but immediately turned around and whirl her sword towards him once again. However it never hit, for her target was too fast. Nihelm launched himself backwards onto a single hand while drawing his lean legs inward. Shortly afterwards his left leg sprung outwards once again to slam his foot into the armored woman’s jaw making her fly back. Nihelm acrobatically used the momentum to complete the movement, using both his hands as support and doing a complete flip, gracefully landing on his feet.

The woman rubbed her cheek as she used her sword as a makeshift support to get up off of the cold hard ground, “Damn you to oblivion!”

She quickly recovered from his stupor and aggressively rushed at Nihelm with her Imperial blade. However before her sword even came close to reaching her target, Nihelm’s slender pale hand took a hold of her face and threw her to the ground. 

Still holding her head to the ground, Nihelm tried to reason with her, “This could go two ways the way I see it, we can stop fighting, you let me go, and you can continue living on and maintaining your high status in the Imperial army, and even go back as a war hero for surviving a dangerous dragon attack virtually unscathed, or you can continue trying to kill me, and I’ll have to send you to sovngarde right here, righ-”

The woman took a solid chomp into his hand making him wince in pain and muttered, “go die in a hole.”

“Unfortunate,” Nihelm sighed, shortly after, his palm filled with brilliant gold flames and spontaneously blasted outward in a violent explosion leaving behind nothing a pile of soot, a blackened skull, and a puddle of blood that was gushing violently from where her head used to be, “I hate needless bloodshed.”

Nihelm stood up and fixed the pearly white hair ties that bound a single black bundle of hair out of many that concealed his forehead. He brushed his hair from his eyes and made a run for it, after all the town was crumbling into a burning mess where he stood. He sped around through the twisting roads of the village without sound. At least it was soundless compared to the dreadful mixture of noise that came from the calamity that consumed the entire settlement. Soon enough he rounded a corner and ran into three men involved in a verbal altercation that revolved around alignment. On one side, two of the prisoners from before, a man wearing a faded blue cuirass, and the strange blonde man, and on the other side, the hesitant record keeper that nearly saved his life. 

Nihelm watched the group finish arguing and saw the Stormcloak and the blonde man head into the leftmost door, and the other man head into the right door. Nihelm weighed his options for a moment and decided that the nervous man from before was less likely to cause conflict, or at least he wouldn’t be outnumbered. He rushed into the left most door into a dark torch lit room that appeared to be some kind of musty sleeping quarter. As soon as he entered the man he was following suddenly spun around and held a blade to Nihelm’s throat before lowering his weapon.

“It’s you,” The man backed away a little, “why are you here?”

“Same reason as you, trying to escape,” Nihelm replied simply.

The man didn’t look convinced, “But why did you decide to follow me and not them?”

“Because you seem like a good person”, Nihelm shrugged his shoulders, “Besides, I’d rather not put myself in a situation where I’m outnumbered.”

“I-I already know your name, I suppose I should introduce myself, my name’s Hadvar.”   
The soldier finally released his breath and sighed.

Nihelm nodded plainly, “I don’t expect to be best friends or anything, but there is safety in numbers.”

Hadvar nodded and sheathed his sword with a satisfying sliding sound. With a wordless agreement they headed further into the stronghold. The walls occasionally shook and rumbled from the damage the dragon has done, and sand occasionally fell from the ceiling like a light rain. The fortress was falling apart, and they both knew it. They definitely weren’t taking their sweet time. Eventually they reached a circular room that was lit up by sunlight that beamed down from the ceiling. The small room was quiet, too quiet. They examined the room and found a Stormcloak corpse and an unopened gate.

Upon remembering the layout, a feeling of dread filled Hadvar, “they’re headed to this room.”

“What do you mean?” Nihelm inquired.

Hadvar began panicking, “both passages lead to this room, they’re going to find us one way or another, we are completely and utterly dea-”

“Do you have a dagger?” Nihelm asked suddenly.

Hadvar stopped in his panic, “Hu-huh, yeah I do, why?”

“Hand it over, and hurry,” Nihelm commanded.

Hadvar reached his hand into belt and produced a simple iron dagger that clearly hasn’t met battle anytime recently, “What are y-.”

“Get down, and stay as still as you can,” Nihelm ordered impatiently, before giving a sympathetic look, “trust me.”

Nihelm wandered over to the mangled corpse that rested on the wall near them. He took the dagger and slit the Stormcloak’s wrist. Soon blood began to pour from the laceration like a leaky faucet. Thank Oblivion the corpse was fresh. He held out his hand and retrieved a handful of the red liquid and snuck over to Hadvar. Nihelm took the blood and ran it over Hadvar’s forehead, the blood dripped down his face and neck. He was starting to look like a real corpse, good.

“H-hey,” Hadvar whispered worriedly.

Nihelm simply held a finger to his mouth, “shhh.”

The faint sound of footsteps could be heard only a few hallways away, Nihelm had to hurry. He cut his own wrist the same way he did with the corpse, and black blood dripped ominously from the new cut. He used it to stain his tattered shirt and rubbed it across his own face. The footsteps were becoming louder. He began to hear voices as well. The gate opened with a steady creak the moment Nihelm slumped to the floor as he hid the dagger behind his back. Whether or not he had been noticed had yet to be confirmed, and the anticipation was eating at both Hadvar and Nihelm. The ones who had opened the gate were the expected pair. The same Stormcloak from before and the strange blonde man treaded into the room clearly expecting some kind of surprise attack. They were on Imperial territory after all. The Stormcloak suddenly took notice of the two “corpses” and the one real corpse.

The Stormcloak, with his mustard yellow hair sneered and laughed mockingly, “serves you right, this just proves we’re on the right side of this war!”

“Who’s that?” the blonde spoke quizzically in a deep but powerful voice.

The Stormcloak looked over at Nihelm, “Who knows, but clearly he got what was coming for him for siding with the Imperials.”

The blonde seemed to be utterly uninterested in anything the Stormcloak had to say, “Something feels odd.”

“How so?” the Stormcloak directed his attention towards the blonde.

The strange blonde man shook his head, “It’s probably nothing, let’s hurry.”

They headed to the other door to leave and continue on through the passage when suddenly the blonde stared directly at Nihelm. He could feel the blonde’s fiery gaze upon him. Did he know? Surely not, it just wasn’t possible. That’s what Nihelm told himself anyway. The blonde shrugged his shoulders, dropped his gaze, and continued onward. Soon the Stormcloak and the blonde’s footsteps became quiet. Hadvar and Nihelm waited a minute before moving. When they were sure they were gone, they got up and stretched their legs extensively.

“Thank the divines,” Hadvar sighed in relief, “where have you learned to pull off something like that anyway?”

Nihelm nonchalantly shrugged, “When you’re hunted by people like them your whole life, you learn to adapt.”

“Are you going to be alright?” Hadvar stared at the self inflicted cut on Nihelm’s wrist.

Nihelm nodded noncommittally as he yanked the wrapping off of his left foot and tightly wound a makeshift bandage around his arm. 

He cracked his neck and sighed, “Let’s continue shall we?” 

They trudged into the corridor that would allow them a way out when suddenly the entire room seemed to shake violently and the ceiling came crashing down in an explosion of dust and debris blocking any way forward. The only way to get out would be back from whence they came. 

Nihelm let loose a loud disappointed sigh and a few coughs, “that’s irritating.”

“Hey, look at the bright side, I don’t hear the dragon anymore!,” Hadvar forced himself to smile while he shielded himself from the debris.

Something as big as a dragon couldn’t reasonably be expected to sneak around so Nihelm supposed they were safe for now. They shook their head and tried their best to laugh it off as they wandered outside of the fortress back into the burning village of Helgen. Thankfully the flames were starting to die down, and there was no more screaming or crying as anybody who was in danger before has either been evacuated or killed. Something caught Nihelms eye near instantly. In the center of the burning clearing a stake has been freshly erected like a shining beacon. Though that wasn’t all there was. Draping from the makeshift wooden pillar was an off-white cloak with a fluffy insulated hood with indents sewn in, clearly meant for the concealment of one’s identity. On top of all that, a wax sealed letter connected to a red thread was attached to the warm mantle.

Nihelm chuckled and shook his head, “Always looking out for me, aren’t you, honestly, it’s a little creepy.”

Hadvar opened his mouth to ask a question before closing it, not knowing where he should start. Nihelm calmly headed over to the strange gift, snatching the letter from the string it was attached to. The odd letter was a simple scroll bound with a ribbon and a red wax stamp. As soon as he peeled off the wax stamp and unrolled the letter, he immediately held a hand to his forehead.

Seemingly forgetting about Hadvar’s presence entirely he read the letter out loud to himself, “Greetings love, just your one and only Onyx writing just for you. I heard you nearly suffered the chopping block, that’s quite unfortunate. So I decided to send you a gift to cheer you right up! Don’t even consider trying to pay me back, just consider it a housewarming gift. Yours truly, hugs, kisses, and something more, Onyx Blackshire.”

“Are they your spouse,” Hadvar asked innocently enough.

Nihelm shook his head, “No, it’s nothing like that, that’s just how he talks.”

“He just talks like that?” Hadvar tilted his head with confusion.

Nihelm laughed under his breath, “Unfortunately, yes, he’d consort with a rock if I painted a face on one, in fact, he has before.”

Stuffing the letter into the rope that was holding his rag pants up, Nihelm grabbed the cloak from the stake holding it up and threw it on his shoulders. The mantle was very warm but surprisingly light. The brass buttons were a nice touch too. He should probably look around for a few tombs and dungeons for something rare to pay back Onyx, after all, he heard Skyrim should be chalk full of them. 

“Just a tip, if you ever want to get wealthy fast, find something rare and give it to a courier with a slip of paper and make sure to have O. B written on it, don’t bother signing your name, he’ll find you,” Nihelm yawned, and looked to the sky and saw that it was darkening, “Well, unfortunately, this is where our time together has to come to a close, if I see you again I’ll be sure to give you a gift or something.”

“Are you sure, it’s dangerous to go alone in the dark,” Hadvar asked Nihelm with a little concern, “I can provide you a roof to sleep under and a plate of warm food, it’s the least I can do.”

“On the contrary, it’s best for me to travel by night,” Nihelm dismissed him coldly, “Trust me on this matter, the less people see me with you, the better.”

Hadvar looked saddened but tried to understand nonetheless, “Well, safe travels I guess.” 

Nihelm waved goodbye and headed out into the cold night, his cloak trailing behind him in chilling wind. Hadvar wondered who he was really, but unable to come to a satisfying conclusion, he shook the thoughts out of his head. He decided it best to head to Riverwood now and reunite with his family as soon as possible. So he headed out shortly after. Oh wait, he needs to wash off the blood from before. He rinsed the dried blood off of his face and neck in the river on the way back. It wasn’t a long trip, and surprisingly he didn’t even run into any wolves!

What Hadvar didn’t notice when he passed through the gate into Riverwood was that someone saw him and recognized him clearly as he entered into his home and greeted his family. Just down the slope by the river. The blonde from before was with the Stormcloak and the Stormcloak’s sister, and he saw Hadvar. He saw him with perfect clarity. He knew Hadvar was alive.

The Stormcloak tapped the blonde’s shoulder, “hey is something wrong, you’ve gone all quiet.”

“It’s nothing, I’m just lost in thought.”


	2. Humiliation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blonde man wakes up in bed after the dragon attack in Helgen, but upon doing so, he has a startling discovery.

The blonde man groggily regained consciousness and found himself under tattered green covers with a pulsing headache. As soon as he opened his eyes, he was assaulted by bright orange light from the lantern next to his bed. He also heard deep and piercing snores from beside him. Upon closer inspection he saw a man in the same worn bed as him on the side closer to the wall. The man was shirtless but fortunately he was still wearing pants. Did they… no, he would remember it if they did, and besides, he doesn’t drink anyhow. Even still, the entire room reeked of sweat.

Ralof, he thinks the Stormcloak’s name was, was an… affectionate drunk. Though it was rather nice of him to pay for his stay at the inn. He took another slightly perverse glance at the Stormcloak’s wartorn back before his face heated up and he had to look away. Surely they didn’t, did they? He turned his head again and examined Ralof a little more. It’s not like he would mind “doing it” with a man such as him, but the same day that they met? He rolled more onto his side and got a closer look. His gaze drifted across Ralof’s toned body. The mustard haired man had a few scars across his back that formed a distinct “X” shape. His eyes wandered further down and saw that the Stormcloak’s trouser were sagging off of his rear end. He didn’t feel sore, so then did Ralof…

Suddenly Ralof stirred the sheets he was on and flipped over, meeting the man’s face with a tired smile, “Good morning, Hugh.”

“G-good morning,” Hugh meekly replied. Now was the absolute worst time to get a hard on.

The Stormcloak sat up and stretched his arms as if trying to turn himself into taffy, “You know, I hadn’t imagined sharing my bed with another man before last night.”

Oh Divines, did that confirm Hugh’s suspicions? No, he needed more evidence. Hugh decided to get himself out of the covers and into safety before he noticed one pivotal detail. Fortunately Ralof still had his trousers on, but unfortunately, Hugh did not. All his clothes were resting on a chair The poorly timed erection was impossible to hide when he had nothing on. He desperately tried to save his modesty with his arms to no avail.

Ralof suddenly began busting a gut laughing, “there’s no need to hide your morning wood from a fellow soldier, we’re all brethren here!”

That was a fairly typical response, and it said nothing about their situation. If Hugh didn’t get an answer soon he was going to lose his marbles.

“H-hey was I good?” Hugh suddenly snapped under the pressure, his face completely red. This question would finally confirm or dismiss what was crushing his mind.

“Of course!” Ralof smiled. Was this finally it? “You saved my life, if it wasn’t for you, I doubt we could have ever made it out of Helgen alive!”

Oh for Talos’ sake.

This time, Hugh is going to ask him plainly, exactly, what happened, “Hey, did we-?”

“Hm, what do you need?” Ralof asked as he adjusted his pants and climbed off of the bed.

Hugh inhaled all the air in Skyrim at once, and let loose the key to finding out what happened between them simple and clean, “Did we fuck?

“Huh?” Ralof stopped in his tracks.

Hugh decided that he would make his question perfectly clear, no room for mistakes, “I’m asking if we had sex, consort, bang, do the bedtime dance, fuck, hump, insert anything into each other, share an intimate moment, rub, lick, had an adult hug, made love…”

Ralof bursted out with violent laughter. His fit of hilarity eventually grown to the point of needing to hold onto the wall to keep himself from collapsing to the floor.

Hugh was starting to get impatient, “I’m being completely serious!”

“Why would you think that?” Ralof made a half assed effort to try and hold his laughter in.

Spontaneously Hugh snapped, “What else in Oblivion am I supposed to think, I can barely remember the night before, and I wake up in bed in a room in some random tavern naked as the day I was born with another man who’s missing a tunic, of course that’s the first thing that runs through my mind!”

Ralof finally gave in and fell to the floor with a thud chuckling his very own ass off, punching the ground next to him. His lungs threatened to leap out of his rib cage and explode.

Hugh held his head, “Can you at least tell me why I can’t remember anything from last night, I know for a fact I didn’t drink.”

It took a bit of doing, but eventually Ralof calmed down from his giggle fit, “Oh right, I think I may have gotten into a brawl, the bartender probably knows what happened better than I do.”

Pressing a palm to his face, Hugh simply sighed deeply. He stood up from his position on the bed and snatched his loincloth from the chair and began aggressively throwing it on around his waist and unmentionables. After Hugh was done showing off the most irritated way to put on clothes in history he marched out of the room and made a beeline straight for the barkeep.

Hugh slammed his hand down on the counter, “Hey, barkeep!”

The man behind the wooden counter was bewildered for a hot second before realizing what’s happening, “Ooohhhh, you’re the man from last night, the one who got hit over the head with a mug!”

Hugh brought his index finger into the air, “I have additional questions.”

“You should blame that guy,” the bartender pointed over to Ralof, “he's the one that started the fight.”

Hugh cocked his head and gave a questioning, irate look.

“H-hey it's not my fault, he started it,” Ralof backed off.

Hugh wasn't having any of it. He sighed and ignored Ralof’s plees as he stomped out the door.

“Hey wait up,” Ralof chased after him before tripping and falling flat onto the ground and scraping his knee, “damn it.”

Hugh sighed and turned on his heel and knelt down by Ralof and helped him off his feet, “honestly.”

Lifting his Ralof’s pant leg inciting a noise of surprise, Hugh held a bare hand to his knee.

“What are you, ohh~,” Ralof sighed a little in relief.

Hugh’s hand shined with a golden light as Ralof’s knees seemed to stitch together like it was a skilled seamstress’ personal project. Soon, after being exposed to Hugh’s healing hands spell, it was like Ralof never fell and scraped his knee at all.

“You're a healer.” Ralof stood there amazed.

Hugh sighed dismissively, “you can follow me if you want, but I'm not going to stop for you, someone needs to warn the jarl of Whiterun of an impending dragon attack.”

Ralof tried to respond but stopped himself as he had nothing important to say. Hugh continued out the door before stopping suddenly when the door of the general goods store flew open. 

“Thank you for your service,” a cloaked figure came out and soundlessly walked through Riverwood.

Soon the man approached where Hugh was standing and stopped suddenly. He cocked his head and face him directly. Longish black hair a little past his ears, short red horns, and skin pale as snow. The man he thought was dead back in Helgen. It wasn't just Hadvar that was still alive. They've been fooled completely. Nihelm. Though Hugh didn't know his name yet.

Suddenly Nihelm spoke, “you must be disorientated, my condolences.”

Nihelm bowed and went on his merry way like he didn't completely defy death and nearly give someone a heart attack. Hugh just stood in the doorway of the inn bewildered. 

“Is something the matter,” Ralof called to Hugh from inside.

Ralof couldn’t know this, Hugh shook his head dismissively, “no, not at all.”

Turning his head to where Nihelm was walking, just watching, bemused until he was gone. 

“Well, let’s get going shall we,” Hugh changed the topic before it even started, “We need to head to Whiterun so they can prepare for the dragon attack!”

Ralof stayed silent for a few seconds before suddenly responding loudly almost as if he was distracted by his own mind, “right!”

After organizing their supplies they both headed out of town and onward towards Whiterun to relay information about the dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah well chapter 2, I had it half finished in my google docs for like a month and now it's here... I apologize

**Author's Note:**

> I mostly wrote this as a way to practice writing and developing my characters before writing anything serious. Let me know if you guys want more alright.


End file.
